


My Name is James Buchanan Barnes

by Pheylan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Learning to be Human, hurt/self-comfort, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pheylan/pseuds/Pheylan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>My name is James Buchanan Barnes.  My friend is Steve Rogers.  Steve calls me Bucky.</i>  Overall, he was starting to feel like the words were true.  He still had a little trouble with the idea of having a name, but his gut was wholly in line with the idea that Steve was his friend.  </p>
<p>What happened between the Winter Soldier leaving Steve Rogers on the river bank and Bucky Barnes seeing his display at the Captain America Exhibit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name is James Buchanan Barnes

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this rattling around in my brain for a while, but apparently, it needed fermenting before I could get the words into pixels.
> 
> Many thanks to Cluegirl for the beta. As always she spurs me to be a better writer.

_My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My friend is Steve Rogers. Steve calls me Bucky._ He repeated these words like a mantra in his head a few times as he rested against the tunnel wall and listened. Overall, he was starting to feel like the words were true. He still had a little trouble with the idea of having a name, but his gut was wholly in line with the idea that Steve was his friend.

 His inner voice stopped as he picked up conversation on the other side of the door at the end of the tunnel – someone asking a question and someone answering. There was some tension in the voices, but they were still at reasonable conversation levels and therefore he was unable to pick out words, although he was able to recognize them as one of the Asset’s technicians and one of the guards. He leaned sideways so that his head was against the door and concentrated on hearing more. He’d been there for a couple of hours now and so far he’d picked up three different voices. Minimum personnel for the Asset was normally five – one tech and four guards – but after everything that had happened two days before, he couldn’t be sure how many people would be in the old bank.

 He really needed to move soon. He’d spent the last day and a half hiding under a bridge and trying to deal with the flood of emotions that Steve had set off. Popping his dislocated shoulder back into place had been a piece of cake compared to the pain in his head that came with feelings. After hours of debate he’d finally decided to return to the bank vault. But the people on the other side of the door weren’t going to like the reason why.

 He got up from where he’d been sitting and stood in front of the door. He gave himself a moment to settle into the mindset of the Winter Soldier. Then he opened the door and strode into the room.

 “There you are!” The technician rounded on him angrily. “Report!”

 He blinked at the angry man as four guards surrounded him with guns drawn. So, they were at minimum personnel. This would be easy.

 “I said report!”

 He didn’t answer, just kept staring at the tech who finally threw his hands up and turned to the head guard. “Strip it, clean it and get it in the chair.”

 “Him.”

 The tech’s focus shifted back. “What did you say?”

 “ _I_ am a _he!_ ” With that he moved. A quick dodge and punch to the left incapacitated one guard. Then he had the guard’s gun and four shots took them out. He stopped with the gun leveled at the technician’s head. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes and you’ll never touch me again!” One more pull of the trigger and it was done. He might still be the Winter Soldier, but he was no longer their Asset.

 ***  
“Bucky,” he told his reflection. “I’m Bucky.” He considered the statement as he combed out his wet hair. Having a name still didn’t feel normal, but it was feeling more possible.

Bucky tucked his hair behind his ears and then scratched at his chin. He didn’t like the beard, but his exploration of the guards’ barracks hadn’t turned up a razor. Probably just as well. He wasn’t sure he could stand a blade near his face, even if he was the one holding it. However, he had found clothes that fit and a shower with hot water and soap that didn’t smell of chemicals. The shower went fairly long as he remembered how to clean himself rather than stand still under a cold cascade as someone else scrubbed him, but he figured it out. He felt both guilt and defiance over taking the civilian clothes over one of his uniforms. Choosing his own dress was not allowed. No choices were allowed, so he was going to do his best to make them now.

However, Bucky didn’t really know what he was going to do next. He chose not to worry about it. For the time being his life was pleasant. Well, aside from the weird feeling in his stomach. He concentrated on that and let his mind go blank. He was finding this to be a good method for figuring things out. Memory finally provided him with the information that he was hungry. There was a kitchenette in the corner of the barracks. Hopefully, there would be food.

The refrigerator had sandwiches and drinks as well as some unprepared food. He took a couple of the sandwiches and a soda and settled at the table. There was a remote on the table and a TV on the wall. He had no memory of ever actually watching television, but lots of mental glimpses of seeing others watch. Curiously, he picked up the remote. He had no idea what all the buttons did, but he recognized one symbol that he recalled meant “on” and pressed that. It worked and the TV started up. Pleased with himself, Bucky put the remote back and unwrapped the first sandwich.

He bit into the sandwich and chewed a couple of times before freezing up. Flavors. He had forgotten about flavors and now there was an explosion of them in his mouth. Memory started throwing words out – roast beef, bread, sharp cheddar cheese, mustard. It was the most amazing thing. He closed his eyes and ate slowly, savoring the next few bites. He finally opened his eyes, put the sandwich down and picked up the soda. A sip got him sweet and slightly tangy, but apparently, he’d not had this before because it didn’t bring up anything else.

Halfway through the sandwich the word Hydra brought his attention back to the television. A woman’s voice spoke in a serious tone as the camera panned over the downed helicarriers and damaged Triskaleon. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about, but gathered that someone had released files to the public about what Hydra had been up to. He was pleased about that both because Hydra deserved it and it gave him some breathing room. If they were on the run, then they likely weren’t going to be coming for him immediately. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face Pearce yet. He wanted to eventually, but not yet.

***  
Bucky’s own screams woke him up from the nightmare. He clutched his head at the words “Wipe him” echoed in his skull. He let go of his head and looked around fearfully. He was not in the Chair. No one was standing over him. No one was taking his memories again. Slowly, he was able to calm his breathing. Sleep his head told him. Dreams. When was the last time he did that? He could remember sometimes going into a fugue on the Chair when he’d been out of cryo too long, but this was something else.

As the fear left him it was replaced by anger. It was not fair. They had taken everything again and again and again. They had taken his name and they’d taken _Steve_ and now he was left with broken bits of memory that he was struggling to understand. He launched himself out of the cot, no longer able to stay still. After pacing the barracks twice he headed out into the main room of the vault, only stopping when Bucky reached the Chair.

“ _Why?!_ ” he screamed. “Why did you do this to me?!” He kicked ineffectually at the Chair. It was bolted to the floor and didn’t budge. His eyes drifted up and behind to the contraption that was the main source of his pain. With a wordless roar Bucky launched himself at it, grabbing with his left hand. He twisted and tore as he poured his anger into action. When he finally stopped it was a heap of broken metal and wires on the floor and his throat felt raw from screaming.

“Why?’ he whispered at the broken equipment. He wiped his right hand across his face and then stared uncomprehending at the dampness he’d picked up. The first sob hit and soon he collapsed to the floor as his body was wracked by grief. Bucky didn’t try to stop it or understand it, just curled up and allowed the emotion to wash over him.

***  
Bucky had no idea how long he lay on the floor after he stopped crying. He finally got up when his brain figured out the discomfort he was feeling in his gut was the need to relieve his bladder. He took care of the issue and then raided the refrigerator for another sandwich and soda. He idly watched the TV as he ate. Apparently, the television just showed news programs. He debated randomly punching buttons on the remote to see if he could get anything else, but decided that watching the news would probably be the most helpful thing right now. There was an article about several US senators who turned out to be Hydra (he recognized Stern but didn’t know why) followed by one about what the European Union was doing about Hydra on their continent (mostly arguing with each other).

Bucky tossed his trash away remembering that this was something real people didand then settled back on the cot to watch more TV. He should probably figure out what he was going to do next, but he felt too drained to really think. There was a news article on Steve Rogers saying that he’d survived the battle and was currently recuperating in a local hospital. Bucky thought he might go to Steve, but then decided against it. Everyone would be watching Steve and there was no telling who would sweep in to grab Bucky if he showed up. So instead he concentrated on the continuing rotation of news and commercials hoping both that he would be inspired on his next step and he might kick free more memories. He was starting to doze off again when a commercial came on that brought him wide awake. There was a Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. Well, that sounded like a good next step.

Raiding the lockers and the bodies that he’d tossed down the tunnel provided Bucky with a little cash, but some part of his brain told him it wouldn’t be nearly enough. He explored the bank further and found an office, which in turn had a safe, which provided him with a lot of cash. The office also had a clock that told him it was 10:48 pm. He was pretty sure the museum wouldn’t be open. He took the cash and the clock back to the barracks room. He’d sleep again and in the morning he’d venture out.

***  
Bucky pulled the brim of the ball cap down and then studied himself in the mirror. With a jacket and glove to cover the arm, he looked fairly normal. He step back and turned around watching his reflection in the mirror as much as possible. The gun and two knives he had on him were well concealed. Satisfied, he headed out into the world.

First stop was a coffee shop on the corner. Bucky was out of sandwiches and had no idea how to prepare any of the rest of the food in the refrigerator. So, he stood in line and listened to people order. By the time his turn came up he was confident enough to order a large coffee and two hot breakfast sandwiches. He even tried a smile on the girl behind the counter and it must have looked okay because she smiled back when she took his name.

While he waited for his food, Bucky studied the other people in the shop, focusing on the ones dressed more casually and tried to copy their body language. When his name was called, he made sure to walk with a relaxed gate with none of the intimidating strides that he was used to taking in public. Settling with his food at a table near the back, he thought he pulled it off. No one was looking at him. He could do this; he could be a real person.

Bucky took his time over the food; again letting his mind feed him words – eggs, cheese, bacon, biscuit. Coffee turned out to be a delight. Hot and bitter with a flood of memories. Drinking with a family. Drinking with a scrawny blond guy ( _Steve?_ ). Drinking with men in uniform. Much better memories than the dreams from the night before, even if he didn’t have much context for them.

Breakfast finally eaten, Bucky got up and headed out of the shop. He had a detailed mental map of the city (he didn’t know why, but he wasn’t going to complain about it) and knew he’d have about an hour walk ahead. That was okay. The weather was nice and he had nothing better to do.

In the end it took over two hours to get to the museum. Bucky found himself easily distracted as he walked. Storefronts, people, cars, everything seemed new and exciting. At one point his nose caught the smell of hot dogs and led him to a small cart. Eating a hot dog turned out to be just as good as drinking coffee. Memories of eating hot dogs with the scrawny blond guy ( _it had to be Steve, but he was so little_.) Someplace called Coney Island. A roller coaster. And then guilt as Steve threw up his hot dog when they got off the ride.

Bucky stepped through the metal detector without so much as a beep and followed the crowd into the hall. He slowed as he approached the first mural. Steve all decked out in his Captain America armor and then – he came to a stop as he studied Sgt. James Barnes in his blue jacket holding a sniper rifle. He remembered that rifle. Remembered cleaning it, shooting it, carrying it slung across his back as he followed his captain.

Bucky started walking again as he studied the rest of the mural. The Howling Commandoes, his brain informed him. Dernier, Falsworth, Jones, Dugan, Morita. The men he drank coffee with. He moved farther into the exhibit, listening to the overhead narration and soaking in memory triggers. The display of Steve before and after brought up all sorts of emotions – pride at his friend’s courage, anger because the stupid punk was supposed to stay home where he was safe, worry because now there was more no reason for Steve not to wade into the fight. At the uniform display he wondered if his old jacket would fit over his metal shoulder. Not that the one on display was the original. His mind pulled up a memory of being dragged through the snow with his left arm trailing blood behind him. No, that one was likely burned with the rest of the garbage somewhere in a Russian camp back in 1945.

There were a lot of original objects. A couple of Steve’s sketch books, one open to a monkey in the USO outfit, the other to a sketch of Bucky and Morita leaning against a stone wall while smoking. There was a video room. Bucky sat through the 30 minute loop twice. Clips from newsreels ( _he’s my friend_ ). Interviews with the surviving Commandoes, Stark and Peggy. As Bucky got to the end of the exhibit his eye was caught by his own face again. A glass column just for him – the only Commando to give his life in service to his country. Reading the words brought more and more memories – his sisters, his parents, school, baseball, Brooklyn, dancing, and Steve, Steve, Steve.

The anger from the day before flared up again. Hydra took this. They took all this and gave him back pain and blood and a metal arm. Well, he’d keep the metal arm, but he was ready to give them back the pain and blood. The old bank wasn’t the only hidden nest that Hydra had. And they had conveniently left maps in his head with locations. Bucky took a deep breath and turned to leave the museum. It was time for the Winter Soldier to clean out the vermin.

EPILOGUE

Exactly one year after Bucky Barnes walked out of the Air and Space Museum, he walked into the lobby of Avenger’s Tower, clean shaven with his hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. It was after business hours, so the place was mostly empty, which was fine. He was there for a resident, not a business. Unzipping his hoodie, he stepped up to the information desk, where a bored guard was sitting.

“Hi,” Bucky said dropping the duffle bag he had been carrying. “I’m looking for Steve Rogers.”

“A lot of people would like to see Captain Rogers,” the guard replied. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly,” Bucky replied removing the hoodie. He then leaned on his arms so the overhead lights gleamed off of the metal. “But I understand he’s been looking for me. James Buchanan Barnes. He might have me listed as – “

“Bucky?”

Bucky turned at the sound of Steve’s voice. “Hey, punk,” he said softly.

“Hey,” Steve replied stepping forward and slowly opening his arms.

Bucky swiftly moved into the hug. He could feel himself starting to cry before he finished getting his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders and he didn’t care. They held each other tightly for several minutes, before Steve finally asked. “Where have you been?”

“Cleaning up some messes,” Bucky replied pulling back so he could see Steve’s smiling, tear stained face. “But I’ve done all I can by myself, so I thought I’d come see if you wanted to help.”

Steve studied him. “So, it _was_ you taking out Hydra safe houses.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded as he wiped at his tears. “They kinda pissed me off, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve agreed with a small grin. “Come on. Let’s go up to my apartment. We can get caught up and maybe figure out what we’re going to do next.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky bent down and picked up his duffle. “Maybe you’ll forgive me for taking so long to get back to you?”

“Maybe,” Steve replied slinging an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Jerk.”

For the first time since 1945, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes laughed.

 

 

 


End file.
